Heart of a Serpent
by Asphytic
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been punished for his hesitation to kill the Dark Lord's worst enemy. Due to his family's loyalty, he is given another chance. But will he take it, or will he finally believe what Dumbledore told him? You are not a killer.
1. On Boys and Blood

"_Crucio!_"

"NO!" A heart-stopping scream came from behind a wooden door. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT STOP I DIDN'T MEAN IT STOP PLEASE STOP!" The words were all run into one frighteningly gasped-out sentence. A somber, pale man opened the door, looking in. A tall woman had her wand directed at a blonde boy in torn robes, and she was laughing as though she was having the time of her life. There was a green Slytherin patch on the boy's shirt that had been stained maroon like most of his clothes. He was screaming in absolute agony, his fingernails digging in to the skin of his face, his feet, ankles wrapped in slackless barbed wire, kicking mercilessly at the air. His skin was covered with dry and fresh blood, some of which dripped from his forehead into his eyes and down toward his mouth. He had tears sparkling freshly in his eyes that mixed with the blood, diluting it.

"If you torture him into insanity, the Dark Lord will have your head," the man's voice issued forth, a voice that seemed too deep for his frail-looking body. "You know he's not done with that child yet." He aimed his own wand at the boy, and he stopped screaming. His head lolled back slowly onto he ground, mouth agape, blood and saliva dripping from it. His eyes looked glazed and blank. He almost seemed dead, but every now again he would twitch, or hiccough, or murmur something that sounded insane to anybody but himself.

The woman turned around. She, too, was smeared with blood, but she was not injured. She was very, very pretty, and looked quite young, despite the look of aged intellect in her eyes. "But Lanier," she pleaded childishly. "I wanted to test another new spell on him. It's called the Cutting Curse. You just say Crudus and where you want them to be cut, and a gash shows up! Pop! It's just that simple!" She started to laugh again, and she went to raise her wand at the bleeding boy. Lanier, however, grabbed her wrists. "You're pushing your luck, you veela witch," he hissed. "Stop it, Lanier!" she demanded, as he tightened his grip until her hand was turning purple. He threw her wrist down by her side, where she rubbed it tenderly, pouting.

"You have Rastus get that boy out of here, Alaea," he directed sternly. "The Dark Lord is going to give him a final chance. You may not agree, but the Dark Lord knows that if he ends up half the man his father is- or was- he'll be extremely valuable to us." He walked away, a snarl on his face.

Alaea checked to make sure he was out of earshot before she directed her wand at the blonde boy again. "Crudus chest," she muttered. The clothes and skin on his chest split like paper through a paper cutter, and blood slowly, painfully oozed from the wound. She clapped, grinning like a schoolgirl, and turned out the door, calling out, "Rastus!"

Draco Malfoy, the self-proclaimed Slytherin King, did not move.

A/N: Okay, well, I know it may not seem so, but I have a feeling that if you like Draco, and the idea of him not being that bad, you'll probably like this story a lot. I don't agree much with most Draco ships, but if you're good, and you leave me a review, you may see some Draco-esque romance in this story, anyways. Wink wink.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, which is good for you readers- I'm sure J. K. Rowling does a much, much better job with it than I do.


	2. On Blondes and Burrows

The sun was brighter than usual at the Burrow.

Even for summer, Hermione had to admit that the days seemed warmer and longer than they had before at the Burrow. Summer was drawing to a close, but this was the hottest day through the whole season. The sun beat down hard on Harry and Ron as they tossed the quaffle for each other to catch. As usual, Hermione just watched, her book propped up on her jean-clad knee as she leaned against a small tree.

They were there because the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour had happened several hours ago. Bill was scarred and he _did_ seem to enjoy his meat raw these days, but apart from that, he was fine. They both had seemed very happy to have finally tied the knot, and they'd already headed off for honeymooning, a point which Hermione considered the end of their enjoyment; marriage didn't really seem to make anybody happy, in spite of the fact that every girl wanted it.

Bored of 'Water Creatures of Ireland,' and bored of her quaffle-wielding companions, she stood and headed back in to put her book away. "Going for a walk, Mrs. Weasley," she called out through the house, taking herself up the steps, putting the book away, and then carrying herself back down. There was no reply, so she assumed the busy red-head was currently napping. Not wanting to awaken her, she let herself out, and headed away from the Burrow.

For the first few minutes, it was a nice walk. She thought about the future, she thought about Harry and Ron, she thought about Dumbledore, and she thought about Bill and Fleur, and marriage. The great heat the sun was forcing upon her was lightened by the trees she passed; she also passes a good many bushes, which was what she was passing when a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle.

She screamed.

All she saw at first was gray eyes that were utterly familiar, and she thought for a moment, forgetting how he'd lowered his wand, that she was staring into the eyes of a murderer. "Help!" she screamed, closing her eyes. "Death Ea­­­-" she was cut off as she felt his hands on her shoulders. She opened her eyes, and immediately gasped.

She remembered Draco Malfoy quite well, for some reason. His hair had always been slicked back and there hadn't been any dirt nor dandruff to taint the pure solution of hair gel. He'd always been spotless and looked as though he was on his way to a fancy party, in spite of an immature and stinging tongue.

The Draco Malfoy she saw now was none of that. His skin and clothes were coated thickly in blood and dirt, and there was an enormous and deep-looking gash cut across his chest that looked only a day or two old- even though it was hard to tell through a layer of grime. His face had less dirt but blood had dried in layers there, and he looked paler than usual, and skinnier.

That wasn't even a scratch on the surface compared to his expression. Usually he looked smug and controlling, but now he looked somber, insane. He pushed her against the nearest tree. "Granger!" he gasped, shaking her. "Take me to Azkaban! They- they're going to kill me; they want to kill me, put me away!" His voice was desperate, but it was hard to feel sorry for him when he was squeezing her shoulders tightly enough to leave bruises. She grabbed his arms and gave a great tug, but to her surprise, the force wasn't needed. It seemed his grasp on her shoulders was mostly to keep him standing, and he fell limply to his back on the dirt.

She forgot herself for a moment and found herself kneeling by his side, telling herself to get help. He didn't seem like a murderer at all; he looked like a boy who'd just fallen from an airplane, and she couldn't help sympathy. He had spared Dumbledore; after all, it was Snape who had sealed his fate. In her mind she knew that he probably wouldn't have killed Dumbledore under any circumstances. He seemed like a complete and utter jerk, but for six years of knowing him, he didn't really seem a killer. And now he just seemed a poor boy.

But by the time she was actually by his side, he seemed to have fainted.

She saw Harry and Ron running in her direction. "What are you here for?" she asked, feeling suddenly protective of the 'poor boy' on the ground. "We heard you screaming bloody murder!" Ron replied, exasperated, and about to ask why she had screamed, until he saw Draco. Harry had already seen him, and was looking down at the messy blonde with little other than confusion- his emotions were so mixed that it seemed like nothing.

Ron looked like he was about to curse the boy himself, but Hermione stopped him. "What are you _doing_?" she hissed, sounding very hateful, indeed. "He's _hurt_; can't you see that he needs _help_?" The irony in her words was unbearable. "Hermione, what are you talking about?" Ron asked angrily. "He cursed and almost _killed_ Katie Bell- he poisoned me- it's his fault that Dumbledore is dead, it's his fault that my brother is half werewolf now!"

Hermione looked regretful and felt badly for arguing (because Ron was right) but the bloody young fellow did not deserve worse than what it seemed he'd already gotten. "It's not his fault entirely, it was Snape that killed Dumbledore, not one of the wizards he'd let in the castle… and Harry said he didn't _want_ Fenrir there, it wasn't his fault he came."

"You're sticking up for him! You're sticking up for Malfoy!" Ron looked furious. Harry spoke up, eyes still on the weak and wounded Draco Malfoy. "You're both half right, but we can't do a whole lot now… I mean, look at him." Harry didn't hate him any less, but still, he pitied him, too. He knew of the situation he was in, at least how Malfoy had explained it; it wasn't really up to him to do it or not, the life of him and his family was dependent upon whether he did it or not.

Draco's eyes opened a bit and he grabbed Hermione's ankle. "They want to kill me, mom," he muttered, his speech slurred almost drunkenly, "they want to kill us… they want to put me in the room with her again, and they're going to cut me up, mom, she will…" Harry could hardly bear to look. His crying in the face of Moaning Myrtle was nothing compared to this; it was horrible to watch. Not unlike Harry, Hermione's stomach clutched with pity, and even Ron's hatred dropped just the smallest bit. "I guess we should take him to mum," the red-head muttered, though he didn't help as Hermione and Harry grabbed the shoulders of his robes, and then held him up as they made the walk back to the Burrow.

A/N: Sorry it's so short. Last time it was short because it was kind of a prologue, this time I have no excuse. xD Sorry again.


	3. On Scars and Secrets

To Draco's surprise, that fat lump of a woman that the Weasel called a mother was very understanding to his plight. Hermione, with no help from Ron and little from Harry, had explained everything to the red-headed woman. First and foremost, she'd wanted to give him food. And Draco, despite his dislike of these… these lower-class bumpkins, was in no position to deny it.

Hermione, although it was an utterly serious matter, had a hard time holding back laughter as Draco shoveled food into his mouth as though it had been years since he'd last eaten. She'd never seen him do that- come to think of it, she hardly remembered seeing him eat at all. Now, though, Draco was eating savagely, like a lion digging into a carcass. It had taken him a very long time to finish the multiple servings Mrs. Weasley had made him. Although Mrs. Weasley was being kind enough to him to make him food and whatnot, she shot him looks of suspicion, and Hermione suspected that Mr. Weasley would be even worse.

He was exceptionally full when he was done- and a good bit dirtier than before- and Mrs. Weasley led him to the couch. "I'll run him a bath, and Ron, get him something to wear. Harry, you two shall need to make room for him." She flashed them a look of concern that told them they were to watch him, and apparently not let him too close to Ginny, for when Ginny came in, Mrs. Weasley quickly hurried her away.

After he'd spent almost two hours in the bath, Mrs. Weasley dubbed him clean. For all the prospective insults he would throw at Ron in the future, 'dirty' and 'filthy' were entirely stricken from that list. He stumbled around afterwards clad in loose plaid pants and a Chudley Cannons sweatshirt. Usually Hermione was behind him, and she seemed intent upon finding some bloody place on him to point out and make him wash away.

Actually, it surprised him even further than these things to learn the next day that the Mudblood was the only one who would stay in the same room with him at all, except Mrs. Weasley at dinnertime. This didn't approve Draco's liking of her; he didn't _want_ her following him. She looked like a lost house-elf begging for something to do.

"Arthur is going to be home late tonight," she began, a bit nervously. "He was too busy last night, but now you're going to need to tell him everything, or risk going to Azkaban." Draco's reply had been quite frank, and nobody had any reply to it.

"I want to go to Azkaban. They can't kill me there… and I need to talk to my dad."

Things stayed silent for a while, even after Draco had left the room. Mrs. Weasley had told Hermione off to her room, and the lights throughout the house (except for the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was sitting and reading a book) were off. Hermione was almost asleep when she heard a thump on the floor. She turned, and saw Draco, standing menacingly above her. She sat straight up, expecting the worse of him, but he merely whispered, "Why have you been following me?"

Hermione was taken aback. "Err- you're hurt, if you haven't noticed, Malfoy," she replied curiously. Draco looked to the open window, which he seemed to have entered through, in spite of them being on the second floor.

"So _what_?" he asked, a bit dangerously, his eyes curious and suspicious. "You're treating me different from normal. If you're trying to trick me, Mudblood, you aren't fooling anybody." Not letting her reply, he grabbed her hand, and pulled her forcefully to her feet. In the dim light, he looked frailer than he had when he'd fainted, but with the strength he'd used to take her unwillingly to her feet, he was obviously feeling better. "Come on, Granger, stop trailing your feet, we've got to go."

She was entirely speechless as he began trying to pull her toward the window, ignoring Ginny as she stirred long enough to turn away from them. When her voice returned, he was crawling on the loose brick spots down the wall. "Go-go where?" she stuttered, so confused by it all that she couldn't speak without stuttering. "You'll see when you follow me, you idiot," he replied, still at a whisper.

"No- no, I'm not going with you!" she replied harshly, raising her voice a bit. "Why would I? You've done nothing but insult me for six years- you're insulting me now!" Draco looked up, on the ground now, looking annoyed. "Just come on," he growled, pale eyes following her. "No!" she repeated. Ginny murmured in her sleep, and Hermione left from the window.

Draco cursed, and took off by himself down the dirt path.

Darkness had taken full effect now, and Draco's face was hard to make out under the meager moonlight. "Lanier!" he hissed into the darkness, eyes searching the bushes that lined the path. "Lanier, where the bloody- oh, there you are." He watched as a lanky figure rose from the bush. "You're alone, Malfoy," the figure hissed.

"You _think_?" Draco replied angrily, raising his voice. "I tried to get Granger out here because she's been following me around a bit, but she wouldn't come. What did you want me to do, tie her and drag her down here? Oh, of _course_- they'd all _adore_ me for that."

"You aren't working fast enough. You need to have all three of them down here; the Mudblood isn't the one we want. It's old Scarface we're after." Draco fumed. "I know that! I'm not an idiot! And I'm working as fast as I can, you're expecting too much too soon. I'll have them down here in just a couple of days, I promise- just don't hurt my mother any more."

"Your mother is currently fine," was his dull reply. "But if you don't speed things up, we'll be sending Metalmouth to help you out." Draco's expression changed from angry to positively appalled. "No- no, no, you can't be serious. He'll just turn them all against me, you know that as well as I."

A sneer was quite visible on Lanier's face. "That's why I picked him. You'll have Potter to worry about, and you'll have to be watching Hermione and Ginny, because if something happens to them, they'll all blame _you_. And when your mission fails, I don't have to bother with you or your filthy mother anymore. If all three of them aren't here tomorrow, than good ole 'Reoro is going to be paying you a visit. The Dark Lord has already agreed with me."

Draco looked angry again. "You still have to get me what I need. Well, I've got a plan, and you need to get two things for me from Malfoy Manor. Make sure that you put a little dirt on them, like they were in my pocket when I got here…"

And as Draco continued talking, the Dark Mark burned on his right arm.

He entered the kitchen from the warm air outside at just before sunrise, to see the blank stare of Hermione and the hard, angry stares of the Weasley parents. "Where did you _go_?" Mrs. Weasley was the first to speak. "And why? What were you doing?"

He lifted his shirt. He'd stretched until the unhealed wound on his chest had pulled open again, and dry blood now coated his chest and stomach, and the inside of his thick shirt- to this accomplish feat he'd lost a lot of blood and was looking very pale. "It opened in while I was dozing last night and I didn't want you to make a big deal of it, Mrs. Weasley. I tried to get Hermione to come help me wrap it and junk, but she wouldn't come, and I figured you'd be more upset than she." Contrary to his fictional story, Mrs. Weasley looked believing but more or less unconcerned, while, for some reason, Hermione looked a bit shocked. He supposed, inwardly smiling, that she felt bad for not coming with him now. He hated her so much.

"And, Mr. Weasley," he began, looking at the other red-head, "I don't have much to say… I didn't hear any names and I don't know where they were keeping me. I know the one that was tortu- er, attending to me, that is, was a tall woman. She was really pretty and had kind of yellow-gray eyes, kind of like succubi do." Mrs. Weasley hurried Hermione out of the kitchen, where Draco and Mr. Weasley were left to converse for about an hour.

When he walked out of the kitchen, hands in his flannel pockets, Hermione looked up at him from the tacky couch upon which she sat, thinking, in the back of her mind, of apologizing for not going to help him. However, all sympathetic thoughts were revoked when he cast a malicious leer in her direction. In spite of the fact that he was injured, that didn't make him any less of a jerk, and Hermione found herself hating him as much as ever.

A/N: Sorry- more shortness! Dang, I've been busy. It's mostly been the gym I've been busy with, and dealing with my motherrrrr. So, my horrid chapters will be elongated the very next time I get the opportunity!


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